Maross
by slack-jawed cheese hugger
Summary: Kimimaro is stuck in some house somewhere, waiting for orders, for six months. But just when he breaks, the house's original occupant comes home... Shikamaru, Kimimaro
1. Annoyance

Maross'i

_Maross_

**xy-x-xy**

Stalking through the various halls of a traditional Japanese home wasn't very interesting, even to someone who was completely acclimated to bland, absolutely neutral spaces. In his boredom, he had stomped down each corridor at least five times, trying to figure out what He would want him here, bored, for. He'd pried up various floorboards, opened each book carefully, checked each bird, each rock, each spider innocently spinning webs, dangling from proud stalks that were stronger than steel by ratio.

But it was so _boring._

Even after all the years of just lying, not opening his eyes, breathing as steadily as he could, trying consciously not to think of anything, not to move, to not damage himself. At least that was constant, but to be ripped once more from the clutches of something familiar and plunged into utterly testing circumstances? It was just too much.

A chakra flare, unbidden, but unnoticed, spiked through the terra-cotta tiles, staining the roof with his signature. When he was unstable like this, he had little or no chakra control, and even less patience. He was born a warrior, raised a warrior, lived a life of struggle and mostly eventual failure, but he tried. Gods, he tried.

He ground his teeth in frustration, trying not to yell. What the hell did He want him to do? What would He want him to do? He would probably tell him to see beneath the beneath, or something else that made equally less sense. A sigh escaped his lips, jaw loosening, and he slumped to the floor. Ever since the disease had ruined him, he was of no use to Him. He had gone off to find Himself a different container, disappointment and disapproval heavy on His lips. It had broken him, crushed him, to be so worthless. To his further disgrace, He kept him alive, for some unknown reason, a kindness the kind of which was never granted, mystifying the other inhabitants of the complex. Even though he was useless, He kept him alive. Perhaps He cared for him.

And that was why it hurt to still be alive. He wanted to return His kindness, his gesture of a softer side never exposed, not for almost thirty years, not even to His right-hand man, Kabuto; but he was of absolutely no use, and it pained him to be so weak. Would that his pain was of some use to Him; but no, the gods would not grant him even that. He had finally found somewhere to place his worth, to pledge his loyalty to, and then…. Then his knees were cut out from under him; he was made a burden onto That which was most precious to him.

He shook, head in his hands, sobbing hollowly, body racked with sadness. Never had he cried! Not even that day, that day when he was told of his disease, that he was rejected as a candidate for containership. Even then, he had simply listened, shoving the anger and pain and the tears to the bottom of his heart, ignoring them for His sake. It _hurt_! Why did it hurt so? Why--

"Why am I so useless?" he asked the empty house, clutching his head as if it would break into a thousand pieces. "What did I--"

He paused, whipping his head to the left, fingers still digging into the sides of his scalp. Someone was here.

"Tadaima," called the intruder.

_I'm home?_

The boy stood shakily, scrabbling at his elbow, which had grown and extruded a small hand-knife, completely by reflex, a reaction to the tightness in his chest. _What's happening? Something is happening, _he observed dimly, focused on the person at the door, who had taken off their shoes and thunked inside, not caring if anyone heard them. He took one step forward, testing to see if he could walk, and then another, and another. His face tightened into a frown of concentration, then relaxed completely into a mask of calm, readying himself for various situations he had memorized by brute force from the books about psychology he had read, explaining a normal human's reaction to various stimuli. He continued to pad his way down the hall and around the corner, into the kitchen, staying in the shadows.

_Finally._

The white-haired teenager laid his body flat against the wall, observing the person before him. No people had been in the house for six months now, not even any of the people on the street, whispering to themselves as if no one could hear, shooting the mansion curious looks. Perhaps something on the outside of the house was particularly interesting. He wouldn't know, not having gone outside himself. Watery teal eyes, flanked on the bottom and sides closer to his ears by red tattoos, darted back and forth, looking startled at the clothes dumped on the floor, the fire started in the fireplace, resting, unsure, on the strangely-shaped items on the table. His namesake eyebrow-tattoos, common among nobles for the last six centuries up until the de-establishment of the feudal system ninety years ago, rose in confusion along with white eyebrows. He gripped his bone knife tightly, frowning in concentration.

The house's absentee owner looked up suddenly, staring straight into the boy's eyes, and he cursed inwardly, his face twisting in disappointment that he didn't fool the house's original caretaker. He looked so sad that for a moment the nin was disarmed completely, melting into an empathetic puddle.

"Kimimaro, would you like to have some eggs? They're fresh."

Kimimaro froze, jerking back in surprise at finding that this person knew his name. _But h-he… I-I thought that… _His calm melted completely and he slid to the floor, defeated. The man standing above him sighed and tsk-ed as he gently slipped his hands under the other's arms, then under his knees, carrying him like a wounded deer to the futon in the corner, where he set him down, then sat next to him, legs crossed. He studied the white-haired male for a moment before offering his hand as if he expected to shake with him. Kimimaro studied it quietly for a moment before looking back up at the other's face with a stare so intense and unnerving that he blinked a moment, then looked down. The slightly shorter of the two saw his hand and realized.

"You grasp it with your opposite hand and shake it. It's a gesture of greeting."

Studying his hand unsurely the whole time as if it would bite him, the one sitting on the futon did as he was instructed, and the chuunin grinned, shaking it firmly.

"What… what are you doing here?"

The near-black eyes of the person in questioned widened. "I… I live here…" he explained calmly. "This is my house. And you…" he pointed accusingly at the young man sitting on his futon. "You seem to be a squatter. I saw you in the Bingo Book. Kimimaro, Sound nin. Jounin. Correct?" Kimimaro nodded slowly. "Good. I'm Nara Shikamaru. I'm only a chuunin… It's not like I could win if I tried to beat you, so I'm just hoping you're not feeling particularly hostile at the moment." He squatted, hands on his knees, and stood up, walking back over to the stove where he grabbed the pan, cursing softly, and shook the almost-burnt eggs onto a plate. With a flamboyant whirl, he turned to face his discovery, offering him a plate and chopsticks. "Here you go. Itadakimasu!" he chorused, digging in.

Kimimaro just blinked.

What was he supposed to do with this?

zutezutezutezutezutezutezutezutezute

The beginning of a story. Is it any good?

The title is _not_ a made-up word; it's made of Latin roots, and it's perfectly legitimate. _Mar- _or _mare-_ meaning 'ocean' or 'sea' and _os(s/t)- _meaning 'bone', as in _osteoporosis_.

So it means 'sea bone'.

As you may have guessed, He is Orochimaru.

'Tadaima' means 'I'm home' and 'itadakimasu' is something you say before you eat.

Review, or I'll send an angsting Sasuke to talk your head off!


	2. Progress

His new caretaker was very polite to him; that much he _could_ tell. Sadly, however, he had little to no experience with people, and so he was sometimes confused by the delicate intricacies of everyday conversation. For example, one day when he was sitting on his futon, watching Shikamaru repair a coat, he had asked why he was there at all, and Shikamaru had shrugged. Kimimaro, not understanding the gesture, had asked the question again, and received a weird look for his efforts.

Sadly, gathering intel was no easier, although it was far more rewarding. From what Shikamaru had told him so far, he was in a large village in Fire Country, and a person named Hokage led the village. It was a strange name, but he kept his mouth shut for fear of insulting him.

Kabuto had taught him that when something is important to someone, they do not like it when one speaks badly of it. He guessed Shikamaru held this Hokage person in high regard, from the look he got in his eyes when he was talking about it.

He kept quiet. While he had studied human interactions, there had been a far different dynamic with Him and Kabuto. They took what he said exactly at face value.

---

After three or four days, Kimimaro felt well settled in the Nara house. He had even learned how to use chopsticks, although they were still somewhat unfamiliar to him. When Shikamaru wasn't watching, he used his fingers, but he tried not to.

He meandered through the house and watched birds outside. He hadn't seen birds for so long, real birds. Real anything, for that matter. It was actually rather disappointing once he saw it again. He had imagined it as being much better.

One evening Shikamaru allowed him to sit on the back porch with him in the evening. He sat and watched Shikamaru for a while, counting seconds to entertain himself, and was just about to ask something when he heard something fall into the grass.

Immediately he was on high alert. He ran over to the fallen thing and picked it up.

It was a songbird, one with a yellow breast, black wings, and a white crown. It had a large chunk taken out of its back just above where its spine connected to its pelvis, and it fluttered desperately, trying to use its wings to get away. Its legs were useless.

The sight of it did not stun Kimimaro. He had seen many small dead things in Kabuto's office. From what he knew about animals, this one would be dead in a day or two.

He snapped its neck just as Shikamaru tackled him, kunai in hand.

Suddenly there was a body on top of him and his hands were pinned to the ground. He stared at Shikamaru. His face was flushed and he was frowning. From the hands on his wrists he could feel his pulse racing a mile a minute. In Shikamaru's expression he saw fear, dread, duty, depression; a rock and a hard place. Carefully he relaxed his hold on the bird's carcass until it fell into the grass.

"Why?" asked Shikamaru, and in the query he heard both the man and the child, asking, watching. Waiting.

For a long time he gave no answer, simply lying there relaxed in the grass, arms pinned above his head. And when he spoke he did so with trepidation, for he knew Shikamaru wouldn't like his answer.

"It would have suffered," he murmured at great length, eyes clear and observant. "It _was_ suffering."

"We could have taken it to someone, maybe they could--"

"There was nothing to be done, Shikamaru-san," Kimimaro interrupted, voice barely above a whisper. "There are some lives you simply cannot save. As a shinobi, you should know that by now."

Shikamaru's frame jerked and tensed, and his eyes widened as much as was physically possible, eyebrows joined and lifting towards his hairline. He seemed to recoil from Kimimaro, almost curling into himself, as much as he could while still restraining him.

The ex-Sound nin tried to look sympathetic, but felt silly, so he let his expression snap back to neutral.

Shika moved to sit on his chest and quickly performed a set of unfamiliar handseals, and the next thing Kimimaro knew he was following him inside, body forced into motion by an external force. He noted that Shikamaru had horrible posture, and wondered how he saw the world through half-closed eyes.

He ended up shut in the room with Shikamaru, who promptly got into bed and went to a fitful half-sleep in which he called out names, tossing and turning. His face was flushed and tears shone on his cheeks. At one point he paused in his movements, breathing heavily, and whispered Kimimaro's name, once, twice, three times, until his voice was nearing a wavering scream.

Not knowing what else to do, Kimimaro crawled deftly across the tatami mats to hold the sleeper's hand, sweaty and clammy as it was.

At his touch the dark-haired man's eyes flew open, and jerkily he half-rolled, half-jumped to embrace Kimimaro around the middle, sobs racking his frail-looking frame. His hands fisted in the back of Kimimaro's now-much-mended, hospital-issue, pale-lavender shirt. "Don't _do _that to me," Shikamaru sobbed, "don't leave. Not even in a dream."

Silently, Kimimaro observed Shikamaru. He was in considerable distress. Additionally, his hospitality over the last few months had been spectacular- he had not asked anything of his sudden houseguest, and had fed and housed him at no charge.

For another thing, he had received no orders as yet from Orochimaru-sama. When in an unfamiliar place, he had been told, he was to remain where he was at all costs, so they could find him. His sense of direction tended to not be very good.

Therefore he was both indebted and beloved of Shikamaru. It would be most advantageous to remain so.

It took Kimimaro less than two seconds to process this information, one-and-a-half to come to a decision, and another half-second to tighten his arms around his _pro temps_ host and newfound friend, drawing him in his instability onto his lap for a proper hug.

---

A/N: Hey, sorry for taking so long... I had the first paragraph but nothing else came until late October, and I've been working on it since.

I really hope you're liking it.

Let me know how far forward they should move in the next chapter, won't you?

Happy Christmas,

The Head Baka


	3. Tradition, or Encounter

A/N: man, this has been FOREVER in coming. jeez louise.

i listened to 'Senya Ichiya' from .hack//Liminality for nearly the whole thing, and Cornelius's 'Drop' for the rest.

by the by, i gleaned from the manga and anime that the Nara estate is built in the traditional Japanese style, so in keeping with that are their futons and the kotatsu and such. not to mention the traditional breakfast.

enjoy, wonchu?

* * *

It was now nearing the end of October, and espite Konoha's fairly warm climate a chill clung determinedly to Kimimaro's skin as he rose, still gorggy from his slumber, alone in the main bedroom of Shikamaru's house. Even with the lack of practice dulling his once-sharp senses he soon came to realize what had woken him. A heated discussion, of which he could only discern a wordless murmur, was taking place in the foyer of the estate. One voice, shrill and obviously female, clamored angrily to drown out Shikamaru's lower, calmer tone.

Kimimaro blinked, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and stood to seek out the source of the disturbance. The old hardwood flooring was cold under his bare feet but he paid it no mind as he turned the corner. The voices were becoming steadily clearer and he could now understand what was being said.

He could immediately tell it was about him.

"-arboring an ex-Sound nin in your house all this time, and you _didn't tell me_--"

"I was under orders not to tell anyone, Ino, you know that."

"Not the point! The guy probably has some serious mental iss-"

The voice stopped abruptly as its owner, a tallish blonde woman with bright blue eyes whose name was apparently Ino, noticed he was standing behind Shikamaru.

Shikamaru himself turned to gaze evenly at the source of her surprise. "Good morning, Kimimaro. Sorry we woke you up."

Ino shut her mouth, which had been hanging open, with an audible click. "So this is him, huh?" she inqured brazenly, not taking her eyes off of the impassive Kimimaro.

"Don't be so rude, Ino," Shikamaru sighed, sounding as if this very situation had occured a thousand times and on every occasion he had told her the self-same thing. "You should at least introduce yourself when you meet someone for the first time. Be nice, he's our- _my_- guest."

Ino snorted. "Do you have any idea what this guy did to Lee, Naruto and Gaara? He almost killed them!"

"That was then, Ino," Shikamaru replied tiredly, running an idle hand through his hair, which had come loose from its hair tie overnight and had settled about his shoulders. "Remember, Gaara-sama almost killed Rock Lee, not to mention Sakura and Naruto, during the chuunin trials fiasco, and now you're just fine with _him_."

"This is different," Ino insisted, planting her hands on her hips. "Naruto befriended Gaara and that's why we can trust him. This guy--"

"So, you trust Naruto's judgement over mine _and_ Hokage-sama's? Interesting," Shikamaru cut in with a raised eyebrow, making Ino flush angrily and raise her voice in protest.

Sensing the argument was bound to continue for quite some time, Kimimaro turned to leave. Shikamaru noticed and called out to him, pausing momentarily in his avid discussion. "Where're you going?"

"Kitchen," Kimimaro called back over his shoulder.

"Hm." Shikamaru shrugged. "Ino, would you like to join us for breakfast?"

- - -

Ino was staring at him, directly, shamelessly, and (almost) unblinkingly.

If he were more in tune with conventional interpersonal customs it would have been highly unnerving, not to mention an annoyance, but Kimimaro was not, and anyways he was concentrating on trying to use his chopsticks. A slight frown settled on his pale features as he attempted, repeatedly and unsuccessfully, to pick up a morsel of rice and hold onto it long enough to bring it to his mouth.

"So." Shikamaru spoke up, breaking the awkward silence by clearing his throat. "How are things between you and that Makoto guy?"

"I dumped him. I'm going out with Genma now," Ino said with a theatrical sigh, a smirk playing about her lips.

"Hmm." Shikamaru popped a bit of egg and began to chew studiously.

It was interesting to Kimimaro, almost comical, how quickly Ino made the switch from cunning to flabbergasted. "You're not scandalized?"

"I saw it coming."

"He's almost _twice my age_, Shimakaru!"

"Well, you should have thought about that before you started dating an older man. Besides, he's a perfectly respectable ninja, if not a complete pervert."

"You're no good at all," Ino sighed, flopping backwards on her seat at the _kotatsu _table onto the floor before sitting right back up. She faced Kimimaro beside her, leaning across the table slightly. "So, Mister ex-Sound-nin-who's-supposed-to-be-dead-" (Shikamaru sighed loudly in exasperation) "-how are you liking Konoha?"

Kimimaro looked up, correctly guessing she was speaking to him. "It is..." He paused, searching for a suitable answer. This girl- perhaps he should call her a 'young woman'- Ino was obviously a close friend of Shikamaru's, so it would not do to upset her. "It is pleasant."

"Pleasant? That's all you have to say?"

Apparently he had not said the right thing, and so Kimimaro sought to placate her, speaking slowly as if trying the words out for the first time. "The climate is... very comfortable... for someone such as I who is used to colder temperatures. It is also... enjoyable to be staying with a... kind person such as Shikamaru-san. I am... most grateful... to Hokage-sama for permitting me... residence within such a village."

"And?"

"...there is an abundance of birds."

This seemed to satisfy her curiosity for the moment, as the rest of the conversation was carried out between her and Shikamaru. Kimimaro studied them, lost in thought, for the remainder of the meal, after which she left to go to work in her parents' flower shop.

Shikamaru sighed again and cracked his neck, standing up from under the _kotatsu_ to take his dishes and hers to the sink.

"Why does she dislike me so?" Kimimaro's out-of-the-blue question apparently surprised Shikamaru, as he jumped guiltily before turning to answer him.

"You used to be the enemy," he said simply, shrugging. "Beyond that, well, who knows how that woman's troublesome mind works?"

Nothing further was said on the subject for most of the day.


End file.
